


what you leave behind

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e10 Maveth, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 06:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: “I told you back on Earth: I have no intention of helping you bring that thing back.”





	what you leave behind

**Author's Note:**

> A very long time ago someone prompted me to write a fic where Jemma goes with Grant in 3x09 instead of Fitz.

As they reach the base of the ridge, Simmons drops. She doesn’t faint or fall—far as Grant can tell, she’s in perfect health—but she sits firmly on the first rock she comes to and doesn’t make a move to get back up.

“Simmons,” he says in warning.

She meets his eyes and, not for the first time, he gets a bad feeling. This isn’t that half-crazed, adrenaline-fueled look she wore after she tried to kill him in the Arctic. This is a quieter kind of—he’s gotta admit it now—crazy.

He steps forward, waving off the grunt he put in charge of holding her. The idiot was more hurt than help getting her down the last hill, nearly breaking her neck a dozen times Grant saw. He’ll deal with this himself.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

She looks off over the field of low shrubs, back straight, mouth thin, chin hard. Every damn line of her says she’s not moving.

He comes a little closer. He doesn’t mean to loom, but he probably does just thanks to his natural height and proximity. “Are we in danger here?” he asks softly, keeping his voice low so the others can’t hear. These are Malick’s men, not his. So far they’ve done well enough, but he doesn’t expect their loyalty to hold and if it looks like this thing’s going sideways, mutiny will be the first order of business.

Something like a laugh bursts out of her. “You came here for the express purpose of finding a monster and you want to know if you’re in danger?” She shakes her head and makes that sound again.

Keenly aware of the distance between them and the men keeping watch—and the total lack of anything in between to soak up the sound of her voice so maybe they didn’t hear that heartening speech from their guide—he grabs her arm. “Well then let’s find the monster so we can get him home where he’ll have plenty of people to kill who _aren’t us_.”

She twists out of his hold. “I told you back on Earth: I have no intention of helping you bring that thing back.”

A cold fear washes through him. He fights down the urge to smack some sense into her and instead takes a half-step back to crouch in front of her. He pulls the tablet—the one with all her research, everything they need to get home—from her and sets it gently on the far side of the stone, out of easy reach. He rests a hand flat on her thigh for balance while he does it and, just like back in that tent where he tried to get her to see reason, she makes only a faint effort to shrug off his touch. It’s not enough to really unsettle him, more like a motion made because she’s supposed to. After that, she doesn’t do a thing about it.

He gets that. She hates him—has made no secret of that since Giyera dragged her in front of Malick—but even this many months after being free of this place, that touch starvation is still eating at her. He was that way with Kara. It was hard, those first few weeks before she was her own person again, to put distance between them. Probably he didn’t put as much as he should’ve considering where they ended up.

It’s tougher than it’s been in a long time to drag himself out of those thoughts—thoughts of Kara and how happy they were and how broken she left him—but he does because the alternative is letting Simmons keep up this temper tantrum.

“Simmons,” he says again. His hand is still on her thigh, her warmth bleeding through her jeans feels downright blistering against the endless twilight. “You know if we don’t make it to the portal site, Fitz-”

“Will be rescued,” she says firmly, almost like she’s trying to convince herself. Trouble is, she’s probably right. Grant was so worried, so glad to hear Thomas’ voice again after all these years that he let that call go on way too long. Coulson’s probably already making a move on Malick’s temporary base.

But Grant can’t let her know that. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe Malick will decide to send another team through. You wanna bet Fitz won’t volunteer for that mission when it means rescuing you?”

She pales and the crazy breaks under a little bit of fear. Good. If fear’s what’ll motivate her to get them out of this place, he’s got plenty more for her.

There are other rocks nearby, most of them not as good for sitting as the one Simmons has chosen. The rest are mostly big and tall, all sharp, jagged edges. Something moves behind one of them.

Another problem with Malick sending his own men along with Grant: they don’t know him. If it was Markham or Hicks backing him up, Grant could make a slight gesture and know the potential trouble would be investigated. But Grant doesn’t even know if these guys are paying attention to him and Simmons, which means it’s up to him.

He shifts a little closer to her, lifts up on his knee and reaches to brush his fingers beneath the cut Giyera gave her before Grant ordered him to go play with Fitz instead. The slight change in vantage point means Grant can better see the shadow hiding behind the rocks and yeah, it’s definitely something.

Simmons goes still under his touch. Her eyes drop to his other hand, the one that’s carefully moving for his sidearm.

“It will kill you,” she says softly, like she knows what he’s seeing. “It’s killed everyone who ever came here.”

“Not you,” he reminds her just as quietly. It’s only meant to be that: a reminder, but from the look on her face, you’d think he stabbed her. He thumbs the guard off his holster, wraps his hand around the grip. He raises his voice, not loud, but back to normal levels of conversation. “You stick to the plan, stay close to me, and we’ll all get out of here safely, all right, Simmons? I promise you.”

She doesn’t believe him. But she _does_ move when he shoves her behind him while he brings his gun up to fire a wild, never-gonna-land shot at the shadow. It ricochets off the stone and a puff of sand goes up near the base of the cliff. Grant ignores it, he’s more interested in the hand he can see raised in surrender.

“Hey, hey. I come in peace.”

Simmons gasps—not in fear like he’d expect—and scrambles to her feet. Grant catches her with the arm he’s already got lifted in an order to the others to hold their fire. Luckily, the men Malick sent along still feel like obeying.

“Will!” she breathes, a desperate, pained syllable that for a brief second has Grant flashing back again to that hallway and the way his whole being seemed to crack when May’s shocked face faded into Kara’s.

The shadow steps out, arms still raised. It’s a guy. Looks like he was literally dragged through hell. He limps into the open, peers carefully at them.

“Jemma?” he asks. His eyes flicker to Grant and back to her. “Are you okay?”

“I- I’m fine, I…”

“Who is this?” Grant asks when she doesn’t answer. She’s not trying to get past him anymore, so he grabs her arm to give her a shake. “Simmons! Who the hell is this?”

“Will Daniels,” the guy says even though Grant distinctly did not ask him. “Now let her go.”

“No.” Simmons steps back, puts herself a little behind Grant. “No, you’re not-” Her voice cracks. She might even sob a little.

Grant is starting to get seriously weirded out here.

Daniels sighs, smiles. Somehow his voice, when he speaks, sounds completely different from a second ago. “Truthfully, I was a little fearful you wouldn’t know,” he says. “He would be proud of you.”

Now Simmons definitely sobs. It’s from farther back than Grant would’ve expected and he darts a look over his shoulder at her. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself and is staring at this Daniels guy like … like he’s …

“You’re the Inhuman god?” Grant asks, lowering his gun but not holstering it.

Daniels—or whatever he wants to be called—nods beatifically. Eyes that look suddenly ancient slide to Simmons. “I’m afraid Will damaged my last body too severely for it to be salvaged in his attempts to see you safely home. I am sorry. I would have kept him for you.” His smile widens. “I knew you would return for him, though admittedly I didn’t think it would take so long.”

Grant inches to the left, putting himself a little more fully between the god-or-whatever and Simmons. Not that he’s taking sides, but he doesn’t much like that mocking tone when she’s already so shattered.

“And this Will guy was…?” he asks.

Not-Daniels looks surprised and maybe a little hurt. “You did not tell them? Did your love for him fade so quickly once you had Fitz again?” He tsks like a disappointed parent. “I thought your affection deeper than _that_.”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about my feelings for Will,” Simmons snarls. Grant’s glad he put himself between them; it’s the only thing that keeps her from flying at the guy.

She’s the only one so affected though. The Inhuman sits carefully on the edge of her rock, stretching out his bad leg. Through the tattered edges of ruined pants, Grant can see flesh torn so deep the pale white of bone shows through.

“All right,” he says, figuring this conversation needs some smoothing over. “Well, good news is we’re here to bring you home.”

“No,” Simmons says sternly. “I am not going to help you bring that _monster_ back to Earth.”

Grant’s kinda hurt. She didn’t sound nearly that angry when she called him a monster last year.

“Lucky that your assistance is not required then,” the Inhuman says. He picks up her tablet and begins tapping away at it. “I know this planet better than you ever could and while Will might not have been capable of the complex equations you were, he understood your work well enough.”

Relief sweeps over Grant. He was really starting to worry there, with Simmons so dead set on stopping them.

“No!” She makes a run for the Inhuman and Grant’s gotta grab her around the waist, lift her clean off her feet even, to hold her back. She kicks and twists like she’s possessed. He’s gotta angle his head back to keep her from clawing out his eyes. Finally, when one of her swipes nearly lands them both in the sand, he heaves her up. It’s not much, just a little toss so he can get a better grip, but it also serves to shock her into stillness; she’s still afraid of falling.

“Knock it off,” he hisses straight in her ear. She’s shaking like a leaf against him and his grip on her is tight enough he’s sure to be leaving bruises but he doesn’t. Fucking. Care. “I promised Fitz I’d bring you home and I meant it.” It’s the least he can do after he let Giyera tear into him like that. It had to be one of them and Simmons has always been so surprisingly tough, Grant thought at first it should be her, that Fitz is so in love with her he’d break after the first scream and that’d be that. But then that bastard Giyera started in on her and Grant discovered he still has at least one limit. He couldn’t just stand by and let a woman he’d loved like family be tortured. So he turned it around, sent Giyera in to Fitz.

He was right about one thing at least: Simmons took _ages_ to break. It might’ve made a good threat, but there’s no way Fitz is coming after them even if he wants to; he’ll be lucky if he’s on his feet again within the month.

“This guy let you walk away once before,” Grant goes on, “don’t give him a reason to regret that.”

Simmons gives a brief but heartless struggle and attempts to stomp on his boot. “It didn’t _let_ me do anything. I _escaped_. Which is what we should be doing now-”

A scream cuts her off. Grant’s been so preoccupied getting her under control he didn’t even notice the grunts drawing nearer. If they were called or just curious, he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t much matter because the end result is three sets of desert fatigues and a whole bunch of bones falling to the sand.

The Inhuman cracks his neck, eyes closed in what can only be described as bliss. “It has been so long since I’ve eaten,” he sighs.

When his eyes open, he seems almost surprised they’re still there. Grant figures it’s even odds whether he expected them to run or just forgot about them while he was having his orgasmic cannibal experience.

“I see you’ve found yourself a new protector.”

Simmons pushes out of what was, now that he points it out, kind of a protective hold on Grant’s part. He blames it on instinct and his guilt over Fitz.

“You’re not going back,” she says. Her voice is a little raw and there are tears on her cheeks, but he was right about that Furiosa vibe she’s got going. If her relationship with this Daniels guy is half as serious as he imagines, he’s sure she’s saving up for a hell of a breakdown later, but for now, she’s stiff-upper-lipping it on through.

The Inhuman only smiles indulgently. “Oh, but I am. My time has come. Soon a new age of humanity will begin.”

Mentally, Grant rolls his eyes. So far, superpowers aside, this guy isn’t all that different from any other heads he’s met.

Simmons’ hand lands on his arm and for a second he thinks she’s trying to steal the gun he’s miraculously managed to keep a hold of all this time, but she only grips his sleeve. “It _can’t_ ,” she says, a plea in her voice. “Ward … We can’t let it use the calculations _on that tablet_ to get home,” she says meaningfully.

Not that he doesn’t agree with her, but her crap plan is sure to get them both killed and he’d really rather his last moments not be spent in _screaming agony_ , thanks.

Her fingers twist in his sleeve. She’s so focused on him she misses the attention the Inhuman’s paying them. His expression is mild enough, but there’s a weight to his attention that Grant doesn’t like at all.

“It killed this _entire planet_ ,” she presses. “Imagine what it will do to Earth.”

And Grant’s gonna be the guy who ushered the Devil in. Not a great way to go down in history, but for himself, sitting at the guy’s right hand sounds like a pretty safe bet.

“You say you care about Fitz? Well take a moment and think about what will happen to him when that thing goes through.”

Grant does. But not about Fitz. He thinks about Thomas. Thomas, who he _knows_ is alive for the first time in more than a decade. And maybe he’s not as close to the portal as Fitz is, but he’s definitely closer than Grant feels comfortable with. If the Inhuman decides his homecoming demands he make a big entrance, millions of people could die, Grant’s little brother among them.

“Fuck it,” he says—an easy death was never in his cards anyway—and shoots the tablet.

The Inhuman barely blinks. He lifts up the tablet, examines first the cracked screen and then the smoking back. “Clever,” he says. “But then you always were the most clever of my sacrifices.”

The relief that had Simmons’ weight dragging on Grant’s arm lifts away, replaced by indignation that has her standing on her own two feet. “I was _never_ one of your-”

“But it is for naught.” The Inhuman drops the tablet and stalks closer. “I already know where the portal will reopen.”

Grant was afraid of that. He takes aim, figuring he might as well make a go of it, while Simmons moves behind him.

The Inhuman tuts. “Your allies provided me ample resources. A few bullets won’t even slow me down.”

“Its leg,” Simmons whispers. Her fingers curl between his shoulder blades. 

Yeah, Grant’s noticed the sudden lack of a limp. Eating the others must have allowed him to heal himself. And if he’s telling the truth—which he suspects he is—shooting him now will only be wasting bullets. Grant’s gotta be smart about this; he lowers his weapon.

“I should kill you for your betrayal,” the Inhuman says, stopping close enough he could almost reach out and touch him. His eyes slide to Simmons. “But this body demands mercy for Jemma, and I am inclined to forgive her—and you, under the circumstances.” His lips curve in a lecherous smile that doesn’t fit his face. “We know how persuasive she can be.”

Simmons is practically vibrating with rage at Grant’s back. He drops one hand away from his gun so he can reach for her. Once he finds her arm, he moves down and somehow their fingers end up laced together. He gives her a squeeze; he’ll find them a way out of this.

“So you will both be spared my wrath,” the Inhuman pronounces.

Grant swears his heart starts beating again.

“And,” he adds after a pause, “the tribulation which will precede the Earth’s golden age.”

Simmons’ hand spasms around Grant’s. He doesn’t like the sound of that anymore than she does.

“The two of you will remain here until the world has fallen under my sway and you have come to repent of your blasphemy.”

“No,” Simmons breathes. She’s shaking again and her grip’s gone worryingly slack.

The Inhuman’s eyes soften into what might, if it were a little less pompous, be pity. “Take care of each other,” he orders. “I will return for you.”

“Wait-” Grant says, sure he can talk their way out of this. Before he can get another word out, the world around him explodes into a wave of sound and shadow. Howling wind hurls a never-ending cascade of sand against him and it’s all he can do to tackle Simmons to the ground and hold them both there.

When it ends, the field of shrubs has been covered by a layer of sand, like new fallen snow. The Inhuman is gone. Grant and Simmons are alone in hell.

 


End file.
